Inkblots
by Deep Color
Summary: A million fibers connect us with other men. In this world, or in the next, no one lives on his own. ll A collection of stories for each character and the strongest imprints on their souls.
1. Muraki

_**Inkblots**_

By Deep Color

**Rorschach test** (rôr'shäk), _n._ a diagnostic test of personality based on the viewer's interpretations of a standard series of inkblot designs.

MURAKI

_Something_  
_Stirs in the black_  
_Smelling of flesh_

_And blood._

_A crow_  
_Cries to the world_  
_Of a ritual taking place_

_A death._

Muraki stares down at his blood-stained body, wondering why he even made contact with the bloody corpse of the boy. But those emerald eyes… wide open as they were but dead as they can be, were that of Charlotte's porcelain green eyes.

Charlotte, Muraki's favorite blonde doll from decades ago, painfully comes to mind. A distant memory of a shallow banter and the echoing sound of porcelain breaking as his miniature lady hit the floor remind him of the pain of loss. A quick piercing sensation stung his heart, and it was all for the world to see then, that doctors could feel pain too.

Muraki wants to forget, but does not try to.

The red curse marks shine more crimson than blood could have ever shone, and the moon is laughing, staring silently in the stillness. The wind whispers to Muraki's ear like Charlotte once did, humming his favorite melody for him when they were alone.

It was painful to be fixed, and the scars from the wounds would never return to how they used to be. Muraki lowers his face to kiss the lips of the broken, naked boy. He tells him that there is no place in the world for a disobedient doll, and that he finally forgives him, his Charlotte, now that he has paid with his death.

Her stiff, timid, porcelain smile was an imprint in his head that could never be erased. So was Saki's. Muraki runs his hand on the boy's face, making the wide-eyed emerald stare disappear forever under his pale eyelids.

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I hope that wasn't too bad a start…

If you check through my other works, this style of writing is very, and I mean _VERY _different from my usual. I have incorporated excerpts from random poetry I have written years ago and the story that follows is based from it.

This will be a series of short stories like this one, one chapter per character. There will be an implied link from the event/character/emotion of the last chapter to the next one. If you haven't noticed yet, this is a 100-percent revised and re-uploaded version of the whole Inkblots series. The older one started with Oriya, and people, including me, seemed to have developed an immediate bad impression on the whole series because of that chapter, so I removed it and started with our favorite character, Muraki.

Next chapter: HISOKA

Please don't forget to leave a review.


	2. Hisoka

**_Inkblots _**By Deep Color

HISOKA

_The dread has come once more_  
_To claim its rightful throne_

_Silence is an enemy_  
_Invoking the phantoms from within_

_As a little child is left to war_  
_For what little remains of tomorrow_

_The silence grows louder_  
_Then quieter_

Hisoka pants, his heart racing. It was that dream again—the night of the curse, and the dreadful face of the laughing red moon. He had wanted to die; the pain of the doctor's curse was more than anything he'd had in his already painful life. But he was not granted such clemency.

All his years of solitude within that godforsaken room… deep-rooted feelings of remorse and hatred for him had penetrated even those thick concrete walls. He couldn't control them. The noise in his head was too loud for him to even understand, so he had just forced sleep to avoid them.

But there had been no solace in sleep.

When he wakes up, the surroundings will not have changed. In the day, there is only the noise of the world he does not dare try to understand. At night, there will only be darkness and the phantom that frightens him to sleep. His tears will not have changed anything….

Hisoka is surprised to find that his cheeks are soaked with tears, back in the present.

There was no comfort at all in dying. _Why_, he asked himself, _did he have to live after he died_? The nothingness he had been wishing to disappear to seemed so far away now…

But the cruel present held no place for him to dwell in the crueler figments of yesteryears.

He stirs and lifts his hand to wipe his foolish tears away. When he puts it back down, he feels the warmth he had secretly—but wholeheartedly—been seeking. The feeling of Tsuzuki's arm around his waist was an immediate and lasting comfort, more than what he thought he'd deserved.

"Go back to sleep, Hisoka," he mumbles sleepily, and Hisoka nods and holds onto that arm until morning comes.

The heartless, psychotic doctor's face was an imprint in his head that could never be erased, but Tsuzuki's presence is something stronger. It takes his mind and heart and there is nothing else he must think of to be happy.

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To explain the weird verb-tenses, to those who've missed the logic: The fic is written in the present tense. Thoughts of the past are written using the past tense, as is appropriate.

Please don't forget to leave a review. A quick acknowledgement that you've read this is good enough. I have reached over a thousand hits for this since I first posted it and not a single soul reviewed. This is hostility! Please drop by and send me love.

Next chapter: TSUZUKI


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